Reburn by Anne Marsh Page A

feet. “Are you trying to set me on fire?”

Chapter Seven
    A s soon as the sun came up, Sam had them hiking towards the smoke jumper pickup. Based on yesterday’s intel, the jumpers were working five miles inland in rough terrain and had been for two days. That meant some of their number would be flown out soon for some rest before rejoining the firefight. Part of Olivia wished he wasn’t in such a rush. Leaving their makeshift campsite seemed all too final. They’d spent the night together, but would that really make a difference in the grand scheme of things, even if he’d kissed her?
    More than kissed her.
    Hell, her knees were still jelly from the orgasm he’d given her.
    Their almost-sex had been amazing, but it hadn’t been just a one-night quickie. Not for her. No, she’d apparently made the mistake of thinking his touching her meant something more. Instead of hiking out with a lover, however, she appeared to be stuck with the park ranger this morning.
    If Holm Arthurs had been watching today, she and Sam could have been any man and woman out for a little day hike, pulling each other along and pointing things out. The forest hadn’t burned here, although that ominous plume of smoke—smaller today—still boiled up on their left.
    They talked as they walked, but not about the night. Instead, he caught her up on what he’d been doing, and she did the same. Almost as if they were two not-quite-strangers who’d had a chance re-encounter in a bar and decided to condense ten years into a few hours. Filling in the blanks was nice, but strangely impersonal. So, all in all, it was too bad she didn’t have the beer. Then maybe she’d have found the courage to ask him why he was pushing her away when that was the last thing she wanted.
    Instead, she hiked along beside him and didn’t know whether she should be relieved or disappointed when he paused and pointed.
    “There,” he said, and moments later they broke out of the trees and onto the edge of a large field. “That’s our pickup point, right there in the middle.”
    Overhead a tanker finished dropping its load of retardant and lumbered away southeast. Another smaller, sleeker plane moved in, taking the tanker’s place. Sam eyed the newcomer from behind his aviator glasses.
    “That’s a Donovan Brothers plane, so they’ll have Spotted Dick running the controls. He’s one of the best in the business. Watch—he and his kicker will put that load down square in the bottom of the canyon.”
    Sam followed the plane moving into position like a man eyeing a football and the distance to the uprights down field. He was all hotshot now, his concentration sexy as hell as he measured the tall ponderosas lining the clearing with obvious concern.
    Thin ribbons of colored streamers flew out the door of the DC-13, riding the air down until Livy lost sight of the streamers in the treetops.
    “They’ll unload now.” Unexpectedly, Sam took her hand, pulling her up against his side. His fingers tangled with hers. She wished they were skin to skin, without the Nomex barrier between them, but safety came first.
    “Yeah, baby,” he muttered, squeezing her hand, as the plane finished its recon pass, turned steeply, and the pilot—this Spotted Dick—lined it up with the patch of bare ground that was apparently the day’s drop zone.
    Spotted Dick came back, smooth and steady down the canyon, the sun lighting up the plane’s tail. Before the plane reached the field, a series of cardboard boxes wrapped in webbing harness shot out the open side door one after the other and fell towards the ground. Seconds later, chutes snapped open above the boxes, slowing the free fall. One after another, the boxes floated lazily down and slammed into the cleared space with a bone-jarring thud. Whooping, the guys hanging back on the edge of the clearing swarmed the cargo, thumbs-upping the pilot.
    Sam let go of her hand and started towards the jumpers.
    “We should be able to hitch you